ﾟ❁ུ۪ °ₒ 𓂂 ˚ 𓂂 ₒ ° ₒ 𓂂 ˚˖⋆

CHAPTER xx. 'Ignominious Lady Gele'

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             The peace between Finan, and Freydis had not lasted long before one of their ambitions collided with the others.

    As quickly as winter ended, spring began and ended just as swiftly. Then, in a perfunctory smolder of austere heat and humidity, Finan and Freydis' relationship of 'you are mine' and so forth melted like a Niflheim incubus in the deepest trenches of Christian hell. For quite a while they could not have enough of each other, it got to a point that Finan would miss his early-morning duel sessions with Sihtric, and Ealhswith was sent to distract the Irish shieldmaiden so the men could have back their bastard Irishman. Then, in a monsoon of swirling guilt, detestment, and misery – Freydis had a realization; perhaps she was not as right for Finan as they both had initially believed.

    Over the course of their relationship, the Irish-rogue learned many things about the man originally unknown to herself. The first one of those fantastic surprises was that Finan particularly favored gift-giving, and surprises. Whilst she enjoyed waking to breakfast in bed, and newly-sharpened blades when they grew dull, she found herself growing quickly abhorrent over his impulsivity. Most of that bitterness, however, originated in her increasing pool of guilt – Finan liked surprised kisses, and hugs from behind. Freydis, moreover, liked hitting people when they trapped her in their arms, and got very nauseous when unsuspecting lips connected with her own.

    It was innocuous to say that the two Irish-rogues were stuck in a conundrum. Whatever meddlesome attempts they made to alter their down-spiraling predicament were unceaseingly inadequate.

    When Freydis found that religiously chewing fish tallow to make her breath repulsive would not stop Finan from wanting to kiss her, or wearing ridiculous amounts of chainmail would not want to make him stop from hugging her – Freydis went onto her next resolution; she would merely avoid the Irishman at all costs until she felt confident enough to proceed with their broken relationship. To start, Freydis decided she was to begin her mission to re-take Linnasburgh from the Danes. Then, once the throne was once again under the delegation of Cian     Ó' Súilleabháinssons heir, she would reintroduce Linnasburgh back to the various kingdoms of Irish Christiendom, Paganism, and so-forth to increase trade, and the overall economy of her beset township.

    Whilst she couldn't necessarily go to Linnasburgh alone, and slay every Dane inhabiting her Celtic town, she was planning to make the mission as easy as possible. Freydis concluded that in order to make this chore somewhat possible, she would need men. She would need an army. So, just as summer solstice wrapped its perspiring hand around the vast lands of Saxia, Freydis took off in the middle of the night with nothing but a pouch of cash in her pocket, and her right-hand shieldmaiden by her side. It was a rather easy affair, for Freydis and Finan had not slept in the same bed for nearly a week by then. All she had to do, to ensure her secretivity, was tip-toe by the Irishman asleep on the floor, and close the door without startling anyone in the home awake. Myfanwy, boarding in an innhouse of Coccham, met her by the exit-gates with nothing but her sword strapped onto her back, and a small sack of bread and empty water pouches for their journey across England – which, more and more to this day, lived up to its name as kingdoms allied and Danelaw ceased in nefarious humps.

    "Are you ready?" Myfanwy inquired, moving out of the shadows which had enclosed her initially. Over the months spent living, and training with Freydis in Coccham, the Welsh woman grew exceptionally adept at shadow-walking. Perhaps that is why Skjold delegated her as a spy in Winchester – nathless, her ability grew innately useful when it came to outlining what steps it would take to get what Freydis wanted, and needed to take back Linnasburgh.

    Freydis nodded, "Aye," she glanced around the area in search of guards, but found there to be none. "The guards are taken care of?"

    Myfanwy nodded, "I messed with their schedules, they all think that one another is standing watch. In two hours the next party will come to relieve," she glanced around, her eyes landing on no one in particular, "no one!"

    Freydis nodded her head, impressed, but showed no emotion, "Good," she simply put, "nathless, it will do you no good to explain every tidbit of your elicit plans for it would bring you nothing but trouble."

    The Welsh woman frowned, "I'm sorry."

    "Your apology means nothing," Freydis stated, shoving past the fellow former-slave and pushing open the unguarded gates of Coccham. "Merely do not make this mistake again."

    Myfanwy rolled her eyes, closing the gates behind them once they were both through. "You've been rather pissy as of late, my lady. Is this because of a certain Irishman?"

    Freydis ignored her, leaving the main path and walking diagonally toward the forest a field away. "I am revoking your speaking privileges until morning," Freydis stated, pulling out her pouch of silver and counting them in her palm. Throughout the spring, she and Myfanwy had gone on several short missions to free stolen peoples from their slavers – in doing so, they robbed many slavers blind which were easily collected over the recent months.

    Myfanwy peered over Freydis' shoulder, making use of her greater height, "How many is there?"

    "You do not need to know," The Irish-rogue stated, counting one hundred and thirty-three pieces. "What towns have you found selling armies?"

    "There are three nearby, all adjacent to one another." Myfanwy stated, "the closest is a town called Caelkirk, it is about a mid-days walk. There is a man there called Tetbald there who sells armies exceptionally cheaply."

    Freydis shook her head, "We are not buying slaves."

    Myfanwy's brow rumpled, "How do you know he sells slaves?"

    "Because armies are not sold cheaply, Myfanwy," Freydis sighed, "stolen-peoples are."

    The Welsh woman frowned, but nodded nonetheless. "Well, a little ways past Caelkirk is a small fyrd-town called Drumnacanvy. They are loyal to whomever pays them, one day they fight for Mercia, and the next for the Danes – I do not know the lordship's name, but I hear they are highly-negotiable for the right price."

    Freydis hesitated for a moment, wiping a bead of sweat from the tip of her nose before sighing, "Very well, we will speak to this lordship."

    And speaking they did, for two days of negotiating, the highest bid Freydis could make was a hundred silver pieces for twenty-men. It only grew increasingly clear that the lordship of Drumnacanvy, Lord Betyn, sought to exploit the young woman's naitivity for ladies who were not meant to be informed of war, and politics. Nathless, Freydis disagreed with every bid made, and nearly cut off the man's cock when he bargained five extra men to her cost of one-hundred if she allowed him to bed her. After a few hours of rest, and a nice warm meal in the fyrd-towns only alehouse, Freydis and Myfanwy begin their trek to the next selling town known as Swindon.

    The Lord of Swindon's initial bargain was marriage, and, without even setting foot into the village of pinewood and hemp, Freydis and Myfanwy took their leave to a nearby Mercian town known as Ilragorn.

    Ilragorn, to say the least, was the most impressive township Freydis had laid her eyes on during her involuntary, then voluntary stay in the English kingdoms. The walls stood tall, and triangular with enormous jewels dressing every spike like a jeweled crown. And, over the gates, was a massive iron cross with Saxian carvings, and miniature emerald stones at every edge. She had not thought she could have been further impressed, but upon entering, her breath was immediately stolen by Ilragornian beauty. The ground, unlike most townships, was paved in cleanly white-stone, and small marketplaces dressed in vines, and water-flowers fortified every edge within the small, prosperous city. Freydis wondered if this place had ever met danger, or more particularly, the Danes. Nathless, it was seemingly untouched and Freydis was surprised by their lack of security upon entering – Freydis merely had to state her business, and then immediately, she was granted immediate free-reign within the township.

    Myfanwy glanced around in wonder, "It smells of bread and wine... I've never– I've never been someplace so clean."

    Freydis knelt down, and drug her finger along the smooth stone of the outside floor. "I wonder how they made it so smooth. And so white, at that. Perhaps the Christian God is true, but He is merely a God of this place alone."

    "Child, do not speak so blasphemously of our lord and savior!" A dilapidated old woman shouted, shoving by the two visitors with a basket hooked onto her elbow.

    Freydis rolled her eyes, "He is not my lord and savior, you old hag."

    The woman stopped in her tracks, gasping, "Pagan!"

    Freydis nodded, a mischievous grin overtaking her features, "Indeed, Críostaí," 'Christian' "now, direct me to your lord or I shall curse you to hell."

    The woman raised a weary, frightened hand and pointed it toward the sky. Freydis looked directly where she was pointing, her eyes landing directly on the large stone walls of the largest building in Ilagorn; a Christian church. Myfanwy groaned, "Another church? I feel so dirty entering those Gods-forsaken halls." Myfanwy jumped back when she felt a splash of water on her face. Curious, Freydis glanced at the old hag who had yet to leave their side – she was holding a wooden bowl of clear water, and her hand was still oitstretched in the motion of flicking water toward someone. Myfanwy, equally confused, took the woman's wrist and inspected her hand, "What did you just throw at me, hag?"

    The woman pulled her wrist back out of Myfanwy's grasp, screamed, and ran away as quickly as her expired legs allowed her.

    Freydis sighed, hooking her elbow around the frightened Welsh womans, "It is merely water, Myfanwy. Now let us go, we have a lord to speak with."

    Hesitantly, Myfanwy found the courage to take a step, and then another, and soon enough she forgot about the whole ordeal when she realized the water would not peel off her skin, or melt her insides like a liquified curse. The church was as tall as it was wide, and enclosed into a finalized archway toward the top with a similarly bedazzled cross to the one at the entrance of Ilragorn. When the two shieldmaidens entered the holy-place, they were immediately called to a stop by an urgent priest. "There are no weapons allowed in here, ladies!" He yelled, frantically jogging over to them from the pedestal on the other side of the church. "This is a place of worship, you must leave your weapons and armor outside!"

    "I do not care for worship, priest," Freydis stated, her tone judgmental but none-the-least ill-fated. "I wish to speak with the lordship of this... town?"

    Myfanwy snorted, "Smooth."

    "Lady Gele is not taking visitors as of this moment," the priest informed.

    Freydis raised a curious brow, "This place does not have a lord?"

    "Not since the sickness," the priest frowned, "Lady Gele quickly took reign when the late Lord Jewell entered the celestial city. But she mourns, it is tragic – she wishes to not see visitors today, but I could transfer a message if you would like?"

    Freydis tilted her head, "I must speak with her now, I have no time for dillydallying. Tell Lady Gele that Uhtred's shieldmaiden must make word with her – if she is informed of the Battle of Bedanford, then she will know who I am speaking about."

    The priest observed Freydis for a moment, eyeing both her and Myfanwy with suspicion before sighing. "Very well, I will go speak with her. In the meantime, it is dire you leave your armor and weapons outside – God does not invite violence within his halls."

    Agreeing, Freydis had Myfanwy take all their armor, and weapons, and lie it in a barrel outside the church hall. Freydis had originally thought it to have been filled with grain, nevertheless, she discovered it to have 'weapons' carved into it when Myfanwy had struggled to read it with her limited ability in literacy. Moments later, a door toward the front hidden by apple-red curtains opened, and a woman around her mid-forties entered with bizarre make-up fit for a court jester. Nonetheless, Freydis kept a steady face, and ordered her right-hand to do the same. "So you are Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg's distinguished lady-warrior." Mused the Lady of Ilagorn. "I thought you would be more... modest. You are a nun, are you not?"

    "Pagan, actually," Freydis informed, "the nun you are thinking of is Abbess Hild, she no longer fights by Uhtreds side. Rather, she runs the church, and nunnery at the Wessex town Coccham." Lady Gele turned, walking back to where she had entered. Freydis panicked, taking a step forward, "Lady Gele, I apoloize if I said something wrong. Nathless, I wish to bargain with you – I hear you have trained-men for sale. I wish to buy them."

    Lady Gele halted, her forehead scrunching as a means of curiosity – the woman had no brows, and in place of them were large jewels pierced into her skin. "What is your name?"

    "I am Freydis, lady," Freydis introduced, "and this is my companion Myfanwy."

    She raised a jewel, "Scot?"

    "Irish." Freydis corrected. "We come from a township known as Linnasburgh, and recently, it had been taken over by Danes. As the heir of Linnasburgh, I wish to take back what is rightfully mine – in doing so, I require an army. I am not mistaken, am I? You do have an army for sale?"

    Upon hearing Freydis was a fellow lady, Lady Gele's face outstretched with a smile. "If I had known who you were, Lady Freydis, I would have not acted so coarsly." In one swift motion, she sat on the floor in between the rows of seats for any churchgoers, "Sit, please. Let us bargain!"

    Hesitantly, both Freydis and Myfanwy sat across from Lady Gele with their legs crossed on top of one another. Freydis began the negotiation, "How many men do you have?"

    "As many as you need," Lady Gele smirked, "How much silver do you have?"

    "Possbly enough," Freydis shrugged, "possibly not."

    Myfanwy piqued a curious brow, "How many men for a hundred silver?"

    "One-hundred, usually." Said Lady Gele, "one piece per one man. However, since you are a fellow lady usurped, I shall give you two men per one-and-a-half pieces."

    "So one-hundred equals one-fifty," Myfanwy concluded, "and with what we have, lady..."

    "We will have two-hundred." Freydis surmised, glancing back to the lady ahead of her. "I will buy two-hundred men in turn for one-hundred and thirty-three silver."

    Lady Gele laughed, spittle rocketing out of her mouth and onto the two Irland emigrants. "One-hundred and thirty-three does not give you two-hundred, Lady Freydis! I can give you one-hundred and ninety-nine, and a halfman."

    "A dwarf?" Freydis inquired, tilting her head. "I was not aware that dwarves fought in wars."

    "And I was not aware women fought in war." Lady Gele retorted. "Nathless, do you agree to my terms?"

    Freydis looked the woman in her unhinged, barbarous eyes, "Tell me, Lady Gele, are these men up for sale by their own accord?"

    The woman shot her hand out, and Freydis' hand went instinctively toward her hip in search of the hilt of her sword. However, she found the area plain, and Lady Gele was now holding a beady-eyed rat in her hand. She was nose-to-nose with the rodent, sniffing it as it sniffed her, "They are not slaves, if that is what you mean." She lowered her hand, reestablishing her attention to Freydis and Myfanwy. "Lady Freydis, Ilagorn does not prosper for our devotion to Him – it prospers, moreover, from our peace. Twelve years ago a terrible plague struck Ilagorn in the midst of a siege, countless people died, including my husband. And this treachory did not stop until I was forced to negotiate with our usurpers, we came to an agreement beneficial for us both and from thereon, we have done nothing but prosper since our abjurance with the Devil's petty attempts." The woman dropped the rodent onto her lap, and instead of running it relaxed happily into her gown. "In our bouts of peace, Ilagorn guards and warriors had grown fat and lazy. They stuffed their bellies, abusing their freedoms by relishing in their easy access to food, and ale. So, to save their gluttonous soles from the fiery pits of hell, I chose to send them back into war. Not our own, of course, for I do not wish to watch my friends fall to sickness once again, but for others. God and I found resolution in such arrangements, as did my men."

    Myfanwy, having lost track of the story re-telling mid-way through, frowned, "Very well?"

    "Very well indeed!" Lady Gele crowed, "will you be taking the men with you, or shall they be called upon whenever required?"

    Freydis stood off the dirty ground, revolted by the rat that found comfort in the woman's ratty-dress. "I will call upon them when I require them so." She helped Myfanwy up, as Lady Gele easily ascended into the air. "I shall pay half now, and half when I call for them – is that okay?"

    "I would not expect anything less," Lady Gele stated, holding her rat out to Myfanwy. "Hold this, girl, I must retrieve my pouch." Reluctantly, Myfanwy winced as Lady Gele placed the lethargic rat in her palms. Freydis took a step back, watching with a confused expression as Lady Gele rummaged through a sash and pulled out a pouch. "Aha! Here it is," she stated, opening it and motioning for Freydis to put in half of the sum. "Sixty-seven pieces, or sixty-six. Either way, I will have all of your money by the years end."

    Freydis fought to not roll her eyes as she separated sixty-seven silver from her unabridged sum. She looked to the crazy Mercian, "It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Lady Gele."

    "And you, Lady Freydis." The woman grinned, turning to take her leave.

    Myfanwy coughed, "What uh– what of this rat, Lady Gele?"

    "Kill it," Lady Gele shrugged, "rodents spread plague, dear, only a fool would keep them as a pet."

    Myfanwy watched the woman with a bizarre expression, turning to Freydis when she had left entirely. Upon their connecting eyes, they burst out laughing, "Crazy old hag!" Myfanwy chortled, "It appears she truly believes rodents spread disease."

    Freydis snickered, pocketing her lessly-filled pouch, "She is old, and senile, Myfanwy, we mustn't judge her harshly. Alas, it is funny –  I wonder how she would have reacted if I told her it is the sprites who spread disease, maneuvered by the incubuses of Dubnos."

    "She would have thought you were speaking another language," Myfanwy laughed, and with the hook of each other's arms, they left the blasted Christian holy-place and retrieve their gear – preparing for the long trek back to Coccham, where Freydis would surely be confronted by angry Danes, monks, and Irishman alike.

°ₒ 𓂂 ˚ 𓂂 ₒ ° ₒ 𓂂 ˚˖⋆

A/N: I don't know how I feel about this chapter, but uh, here it is! Gotta carry in that conflict y'know. Also, I'd like to introduce Helena Bonham Carter as Lady Gele (particularly her portrayal of Mrs Lovett in Sweeney Todd.) The gif used at the start of this chapter is how I envision her (:

Posted: 01:03:2022
Words: 3,358